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| 从拉鲁湿地看颇章布达拉。（拍摄于2013年10月1日） |
献辞
——致尊者达赖喇嘛八十寿诞
唯色
那是黄昏将至时分，已是二十年前；
依然记得涌出那些诗句的个体——
年轻的女子，日益不安于体制的诗人，
却还是顺从单位的安排。幸亏美妙，
因为是去拉萨东边山谷中的温泉洗浴，
各种传说比水池里倏忽而逝的细蛇更稀罕，
更亲切。邻近的小寺，几个阿尼[1]微笑着，
说起古汝仁波切[2]与堪卓玛[3]的语气很寻常。
我再喜欢不过，就像是刚刚遇见。
我活在自己的内心，无视周围的人际关系，
这样很好，有利于我在命运的途中抓住灵感，
无所谓颠簸与喧哗，匆忙写下[4]：
“……在路上，一个供奉的
手印并不复杂
如何结在蒙尘的额上？
一串特别的真言
并不生涩
如何悄悄地涌出
早已玷污的嘴唇？
我怀抱人世间从不生长的花朵
赶在凋零之前
热泪盈眶，四处寻觅
只为献给一个绛红色的老人
一块如意瑰宝[5]
一缕微笑，将生生世世
系得很紧”
其实一路上的风景布满隐喻：
比如掩蔽在某座山上的修行洞过于静谧，
容许打扰的话，又会与谁重逢？
比如不远处三三两两的马匹中，浑身漆黑的
那匹，为何不停地甩动四蹄却不吃草？
比如背着大捆枯枝的少女过早系上邦典[6]，
却不抱怨，而是婉转如歌地赞美度母。
但从拉萨传来禁令：与往年一样，
“冲拉亚岁”[7]，不准煨桑，不准抛洒糌粑……
我活在自己的内心，无视周围的人际关系，
这样很好，有利于我在命运的途中抓住灵感，
无所谓颠簸与喧哗，匆忙写下：
“……在路上，一个供奉的
手印并不复杂
如何结在蒙尘的额上？
一串特别的真言
并不生涩
如何悄悄地涌出
早已玷污的嘴唇？
我怀抱人世间从不生长的花朵
赶在凋零之前
热泪盈眶，四处寻觅
只为献给一个绛红色的老人
一块如意瑰宝
一缕微笑，将生生世世
系得很紧”
又是黄昏将至，这转瞬即逝的二十年，
我从故乡挪到帝国的首府，异乡中的异乡——
安于少数和边缘的身份，获得有限的自由，
却难以突破从天而降的黑暗愈来愈浓密。好吧，
就像曼德尔斯塔姆，彻夜等待着客人和铁链的响声[8]，
然而愿望还未实现，这一世的生命已经衰老，
再也经不起他各一方的痛苦，
不知疲倦的孩子们纷纷夭折，
天地可鉴，恰如其分的业报必须及时兑现。
我活在自己的内心，无视周围的人际关系，
这样很好，有利于我在命运的途中抓住灵感，
无所谓颠簸与喧哗，匆忙写下：
“……在路上，一个供奉的
手印并不复杂
如何结在蒙尘的额上？
一串特别的真言
并不生涩
如何悄悄地涌出
早已玷污的嘴唇？
我怀抱人世间从不生长的花朵
赶在凋零之前
热泪盈眶，四处寻觅
只为献给一个绛红色的老人
一块如意瑰宝
一缕微笑，将生生世世
系得很紧”
2015年6月28日-7月6日，北京
注释：
[1]阿尼：藏语，尼姑。
[2]古汝仁波切：藏语，莲花生大士，藏传佛教密宗宗师。
[3]堪卓玛：藏语，空行母。
[4]这首诗题为《在路上》，写于1995年5月的一天，从拉萨近郊墨竹工卡县德仲温泉返回途中。
[5]如意瑰宝：藏语的发音是“益西诺布”，是对尊者达赖喇嘛或佛教领袖的尊称。
[6]邦典：藏语，西藏女子所系围裙，一般为已婚女子标志。
[7]“冲拉亚岁”：“冲拉”（འཁུངས་ལྷ་）的藏语意为出生之神。始于七世达赖喇嘛时期，拉萨东郊的冲拉村（今城关区纳金乡塔玛村）建供奉达赖喇嘛出生之神的小寺庙“冲拉神殿”，而神殿所在的村于是得名“冲拉”。传统上，在达赖喇嘛诞辰之日，政府与民间将在此处隆重举行庆典：煨桑、燃香、颂歌、祈祷，并向空中抛撒糌粑，以示吉祥如意，而拉萨市民倾城而出，相互撒糌粑，诵祝福，喜气洋洋，这一习俗称之为“冲拉亚岁”，已有近三百年的历史。1999年，当局强令取消“冲拉亚岁“，并将冲拉村更名为塔玛村，意即红旗村。
[8]彻夜等待着客人和铁链的响声：来自前苏联被共产政权迫害致死的伟大诗人曼德尔斯塔姆的诗《列宁格勒》。
Testimony
for the eightieth birthday of His Holiness the Dalai Lama
by Tsering Woeser
'Twas just before nightfall, twenty years ago.
I still remember the one who poured out those verses:
She was young, a poet
Settling into the System,
Even submitting to the assignments handed down by her Work Unit.
But by luck it turned out beautifully
When she was dispatched to a spa at the hot springs east of Lhasa.
The place swarmed with tradition and folklore,
Uncanny but charming, like the water snakes darting in the pools.
There was a little temple, and nuns with shy smiles
Who chatted matter-of-factly about Guru Rinpoche and dakinis.
I felt great affection for them, though we had barely met.
I live within, and disregard the human web outside;
Thus heedless of the braying and the blows,
I seize what lights my path and write it down:
On the road, a pious mudra's not complex,
But it ill suits a tainted brow.
A string of special mantras is not hard,
But they're jarring, from lips stained with lies.
I clutch a flower not of this world
And search with glistening eyes, in haste before it perish,
That I may present it to an old man in a deep red robe.
A wish-fulfilling jewel,
A wisp of a smile:
These bind the generations tight.
On that road the scenery teemed with metaphors.
Take those hidden forms of men,
Deep in meditation caves beneath the mountains.
Had I been so bold as to intrude, whom would I have met?
Or among the horses passing near,
The black one who didn't bow his head to graze but stamped his hooves -- why?
And that woman, so young to have tied on the multicolored apron of a wife,
Who bore fagots on her back with words not of complaint but of gentle praise for Tara.
Yet from Lhasa came the ban: for the feast of Trungkar, as in past years,
It was forbidden to burn incense, forbidden to cast tsampa . . .
I live within, and disregard the human web outside;
Thus heedless of the braying and the blows,
I seize what lights my path and write it down:
On the road, a pious mudra's not complex,
But it ill suits a tainted brow.
A string of special mantras is not hard,
But they're jarring, from lips stained with lies.
I clutch a flower not of this world
And search with glistening eyes, in haste before it perish,
That I may present it to an old man in a deep red robe.
A wish-fulfilling jewel,
A wisp of a smile:
These bind the generations tight.
It's just before nightfall, again; these twenty years have flitted by.
In the capital of empire, far from home, I am a stranger in a strange land.
Settling into minority status, and marginalized,
I've found a bit of freedom,
Though it's hard to break through the gathering darkness.
Very well; like Mandelstam,
I wait through the night for dear guests and the rattle of chains at the door.
What we long for has not come, and this incarnation of our life is in decline.
It's not easy to keep bearing the grief of separation
And the untimely deaths of the young, one after another, who do not know the meaning of weariness.
I call Heaven and Earth to witness: karma shall make its weight felt in due time.
I live within, and disregard the human web outside;
Thus heedless of the braying and the blows,
I seize what lights my path and write it down:
On the road, a pious mudra's not complex,
But it ill suits a tainted brow.
A string of special mantras is not hard,
But they're jarring, from lips stained with lies.
I clutch a flower not of this world
And search with glistening eyes, in haste before it perish,
That I may present it to an old man in a deep red robe.
A wish-fulfilling jewel,
A wisp of a smile:
These bind the generations tight.
June 28 -- July 1, 2015
Beijing
(Transl. A. E. Clark)
Notes:
On the road . . . Excerpted from a poem Woeser wrote in May 1995 on the way home from a visit to the hot springs at Meldro Gungkar, east of Lhasa. A slightly different version of the poem can be read in English here.
Guru Rinpoche An Indian mystic named Padmasambhava who came to Tibet in the eighth century C.E. and played a decisive part in the dissemination of Buddhism there. The medieval account of his life is filled with miracles.
A wish-fulfilling jewel This legendary object appears frequently in both Hindu and Buddhist folklore and iconography. The term is also an honorific title for the Dalai Lama.
Trungkar The celebration of the birthday of the Dalai Lama
We wait through the night From the final couplet of Osip Mandelstam's "Leningrad." Bernard Meares interprets the "dear guests" as a veiled reference to the police.
【转自唯色RFA博客：http://www.rfa.org/mandarin/zhuanlan/weiseblog/ws-07052015123706.html】
for the eightieth birthday of His Holiness the Dalai Lama
by Tsering Woeser
'Twas just before nightfall, twenty years ago.
I still remember the one who poured out those verses:
She was young, a poet
Settling into the System,
Even submitting to the assignments handed down by her Work Unit.
But by luck it turned out beautifully
When she was dispatched to a spa at the hot springs east of Lhasa.
The place swarmed with tradition and folklore,
Uncanny but charming, like the water snakes darting in the pools.
There was a little temple, and nuns with shy smiles
Who chatted matter-of-factly about Guru Rinpoche and dakinis.
I felt great affection for them, though we had barely met.
I live within, and disregard the human web outside;
Thus heedless of the braying and the blows,
I seize what lights my path and write it down:
On the road, a pious mudra's not complex,
But it ill suits a tainted brow.
A string of special mantras is not hard,
But they're jarring, from lips stained with lies.
I clutch a flower not of this world
And search with glistening eyes, in haste before it perish,
That I may present it to an old man in a deep red robe.
A wish-fulfilling jewel,
A wisp of a smile:
These bind the generations tight.
On that road the scenery teemed with metaphors.
Take those hidden forms of men,
Deep in meditation caves beneath the mountains.
Had I been so bold as to intrude, whom would I have met?
Or among the horses passing near,
The black one who didn't bow his head to graze but stamped his hooves -- why?
And that woman, so young to have tied on the multicolored apron of a wife,
Who bore fagots on her back with words not of complaint but of gentle praise for Tara.
Yet from Lhasa came the ban: for the feast of Trungkar, as in past years,
It was forbidden to burn incense, forbidden to cast tsampa . . .
I live within, and disregard the human web outside;
Thus heedless of the braying and the blows,
I seize what lights my path and write it down:
On the road, a pious mudra's not complex,
But it ill suits a tainted brow.
A string of special mantras is not hard,
But they're jarring, from lips stained with lies.
I clutch a flower not of this world
And search with glistening eyes, in haste before it perish,
That I may present it to an old man in a deep red robe.
A wish-fulfilling jewel,
A wisp of a smile:
These bind the generations tight.
It's just before nightfall, again; these twenty years have flitted by.
In the capital of empire, far from home, I am a stranger in a strange land.
Settling into minority status, and marginalized,
I've found a bit of freedom,
Though it's hard to break through the gathering darkness.
Very well; like Mandelstam,
I wait through the night for dear guests and the rattle of chains at the door.
What we long for has not come, and this incarnation of our life is in decline.
It's not easy to keep bearing the grief of separation
And the untimely deaths of the young, one after another, who do not know the meaning of weariness.
I call Heaven and Earth to witness: karma shall make its weight felt in due time.
I live within, and disregard the human web outside;
Thus heedless of the braying and the blows,
I seize what lights my path and write it down:
On the road, a pious mudra's not complex,
But it ill suits a tainted brow.
A string of special mantras is not hard,
But they're jarring, from lips stained with lies.
I clutch a flower not of this world
And search with glistening eyes, in haste before it perish,
That I may present it to an old man in a deep red robe.
A wish-fulfilling jewel,
A wisp of a smile:
These bind the generations tight.
June 28 -- July 1, 2015
Beijing
(Transl. A. E. Clark)
Notes:
On the road . . . Excerpted from a poem Woeser wrote in May 1995 on the way home from a visit to the hot springs at Meldro Gungkar, east of Lhasa. A slightly different version of the poem can be read in English here.
Guru Rinpoche An Indian mystic named Padmasambhava who came to Tibet in the eighth century C.E. and played a decisive part in the dissemination of Buddhism there. The medieval account of his life is filled with miracles.
A wish-fulfilling jewel This legendary object appears frequently in both Hindu and Buddhist folklore and iconography. The term is also an honorific title for the Dalai Lama.
Trungkar The celebration of the birthday of the Dalai Lama
We wait through the night From the final couplet of Osip Mandelstam's "Leningrad." Bernard Meares interprets the "dear guests" as a veiled reference to the police.
【转自唯色RFA博客：http://www.rfa.org/mandarin/zhuanlan/weiseblog/ws-07052015123706.html】
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